Lullaby
by LadyElemental
Summary: A sort of one-shot based around the music video for 'Lullaby' by Nickelback. The Doctor and Rose have a child, but she dies during childbirth. How does the Doctor cope with his new loss and dealing with being a single parent?


**DISCLAIMER: I sadly do not own Doctor Who and it's character or the song 'Lullaby' by Nickelback. Would that I did though...**

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Lullaby

He could hear and sense it before she even realized it. Before she even knew. He knew and his hearts broke at such knowledge. In a way, he had caused it, brought it about. He kept telling himself that he didn't do this, it wasn't his fault. But then, in a way, could it have been? After all, it _was_ his child she was trying to give birth to. His half-Time Lord child, and she was dying.

"Doctor!" Rose screamed, snapping him back to the here and now. But she couldn't be dying; she was so full of life. She had an entire future ahead of her – a future with him. He could see the timelines. But the golden threads were flickering and failing.

"You're doing fine, Rose," he lied, trying desperately to hide the despair he felt. And then, in a whirl that felt entirely too fast a time, their child was born. But at the same moment, he could hear Rose's one heart failing, the beat faltering and stuttering as it tried to keep her alive.

"My baby," she whispered, looking at the child swaddled in the Doctor's arms.

"Your baby girl," he whispered back, setting her in Rose's arms while he still could.

"Take care of her," she said softly, grasping his hand and looking deep into his eyes.

"You're going to take care of her too," he said desperately, fighting the tears he felt forming. Rose simply shook her head.

"I can't. I can feel it, Doctor. Pathetic creatures with one heart, eh?" she chuckled weakly. "Please, take care of her."

"Rose, don't. Please don't," he begged, knowing deep down that it would do absolutely no good. She gave one last smile at him before she closed her eyes. Her heart gave one last stuttering beat and fell silent. Tears falling freely, he gently cradled his daughter, still clinging tightly to Rose's hand.

He was suddenly angry, horribly angry, at the universe for taking away Rose. His Rose, the one person who had any shot at healing him from the War and now she was gone. And there was nothing he could do about it. Fearing he might hurt his newborn, he quickly set her down in the bassinet he had dug up only hours ago. No sooner was she being gently rocked by the TARDIS' quiet manipulations then the Doctor dropped to his knees, finally understanding why, after 900 years, why humans were so emotional. Why Rose seemed to cry at nothing whatsoever. It hurt. Everything hurt. Emotions, life, it all hurt. And it all came out in tears. Every once in a while, the rage would show and he would bang his fist uselessly against something before the fight went out of him.

After some time, the emotion subsided as his Time Lord biology took hold again. Time Lords didn't show emotion, so why was he?

"Doctor?" a voice called from somewhere near the console room. His TARDIS had been locked, so who could have gotten in? "Doctor, where are you at? Rose?" Of course, it was Jackie.

"Jackie?" he called hoarsely, the tears having roughened his voice.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" she called in concern, closer now. He had to love the TARDIS. Whenever needed, she would shift around the rooms and she had just brought his current room closer to the controls. After a few seconds, Jackie poked her head around the door, wrinkles of concern on her forehead. "Are you crying?" she asked, slightly taken aback by the sight.

"I -," he attempted, trying to tell Jackie and get it off his chest, but it wasn't working. "Rose," he finally managed, glancing towards the bed where she lay. Jackie glanced and could tell right off the bat that something was wrong. She made her way over and grasped Rose's cold hand and nearly broke into tears herself.

"What happened?" she breathed, backing away before crouching beside the Doctor.

"Childbirth," he whispered through even more tears. "It was too much for her, I guess. She got to hold her, though." He smiled a bit as Jackie looked into the bassinet beside him and saw her granddaughter. She smiled fondly.

"She's gorgeous. Like her parents," she said, gathering her up and cradling her close. "What did you call her?" And that made the Doctor speechless, because they had never discussed names and Rose had never said. But he was only speechless for a few seconds because he knew exactly what he wanted to call his daughter. Jackie glanced at him before speaking again. "She's not named yet?"

"Rose didn't have a chance. She only had about a minute after the baby was born."

"Well, what do you want to call her?" Jackie asked gently, shifting the baby into the Doctor's arms. He glanced down at the sleeping baby and saw a smattering of blonde. When she stirred ever so slightly, there were dark brown irises beneath her eyelids.

"Rosemarie. After her mother. I think Rosemarie Andromeda Tyler," he said quietly.

"Hello, Rosemarie, I'm your grandmum," Jackie smiled, still fighting back her own tears. She desperately wanted to grieve for her lost daughter but right now would probably not be a good idea. The Doctor was obviously still shaken and someone had to take care of baby Rosemarie. "Why Andromeda?"

"It's a constellation of stars. The stars, that was my life, our life. Why not?" he shrugged. "What do I do, Jackie?" he choked out, words nearly drowned by tears again. Jackie was torn by seeing the Doctor this way.

"Well, what would you have done if Rose had survived?"

"Travelled, as we'd always done. One of us would always have been able to take care of Rosemarie. But I can't do that now. There'll be no one to make sure that she's safe," he said slowly. "Oh, Rassilon. I have to settle down, don't I?" he asked with a grimace. Jackie nodded slowly.

"It's your best option. Because I won't take your daughter away from ya. Go out there and settle yourself down in society," she suggested.

The Doctor glanced down at the child in his arms, so tiny and fragile and already fast asleep. He knew, without a second's hesitation, that he would do anything for his daughter, for little Rosemarie. He nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out shakily before glancing back up at Jackie. He had to move because there were things to do. But he just couldn't seem to find the willpower. His lip quivered and a fresh wave of grief broke over him.

He had been so stupid to let that one human child get so close to his hearts. He knew at the stirrings of feeling that this would happen sooner or later. But it still hurt. No amount of preparation could have prevented the ache that now resided in his hearts. And it was an ache he would never be rid of. Rose had chipped away his armor, rooted inside his life until she found a comfortable, safe place. And she would never leave, even in death. She had found a way into his hearts that not even his Gallifreyan wife had done. Nor his first granddaughter. What they had was so much stronger than those. And its resounding empty ache was just as strong.

He felt Jackie squeeze his shoulder before moving away to Rose's bedside. He could hear the soft sounds of her sobs from across the room.

_Help me_, he thought to Fate, the only power he believed to be stronger than him. _For Rosemarie_.

After a time, they both found the strength to do what needed to be done. The Doctor put Rosemarie in her bassinet before asking a boon of Jackie. She watched him through watery eyes as he spoke but gave a small smile and nodded her approval. He left her to grieve and made his way to the console room. With the TARDIS' help, he found an empty field and landed quite gently. He reflected back on his conversation with Jackie as he gathered what would be needed.

"I want to give her a funeral pyre, in the fashion of Gallifrey," he asked. He knew that humans would sometimes cremate their dead and spread their ashes. But that's not what he wanted. It felt too impersonal to ask someone to burn your dead for you. He needed to be the one to drop the torch, a final farewell to his beloved. When Jackie had agreed, he promised to make sure it seemed as if she had a proper funeral. At least according to the government records. By the time he made it back to the birthing room, Jackie had grown quiet and somber.

"Will you help me?" he asked gently, showing the rolls of linen he had brought. Jackie said nothing but reached for a roll in silence. And Jackie remained silent as they watched the pyre burn to ashes until they entered the TARDIS once more.

"Do you want to stay with me for a bit?" she asked, eyes staring into the distance.

"I don't know, Jackie," he murmured. It was true; he didn't know. He was torn. Living with Jackie would be nice to keep the quiet at bay but it might hurt as well. Rose and Jackie were so very similar; from their blonde hair to their personalities. He was afraid he might start seeing ghosts in her flat. They said no more as the TARDIS returned to London.

In the end, the Doctor decided to strike out on his own right away. He soniced an ATM, much to Jackie's quiet disapproval, but he didn't get much father. As she had so smugly pointed out, acquiring a flat took time, nearly a month's worth as it turned out. But he had found a job within a day as a computer technician and repairman. Jackie was more than willing to help out with Rosemarie when she could, which was quite often as it seemed. Whenever Jackie wasn't working or having a girls' night out, she was with the Doctor and her grandbaby.

"Jackie, I can't do this! I can't pretend to be something I'm not and take care of Rosemarie on my own," the Doctor fumed one afternoon when Jackie came by to check on them.

"Life is difficult, Doctor. That's something you should know but you can't give up now," she said calmly, watching Rosemarie kick her feet and giggle as she lay inside her bassinet.

"Are you gonna stop me, Jackie?" he demanded, pacing his tiny kitchen. His flat was tiny as it was all he could afford. Although his sonic screwdriver was more than capable of overwriting ATM machines, Jackie frowned upon it and was only silent when he 'borrowed' money the first time so that he could attempt to get a foothold in London.

"If that's what I have to do, then I will. And do you want to know why, Doctor?" she asked, eyeing him as he turned to glare at her. "Because I won't do it again. I will not be forced to raise a little girl on my own. And you are not going to do to Marie what Pete did to Rose," she threatened. Both of them had taken to calling the baby Marie as the nickname 'Rose' still hurt both of them too much. After all, Rosemarie was only six months old; barely standing on her own. "You have to try, Doctor. That's what the rest of us do. We try and we make do. Can't you do that for Marie?"

"Take care of her, Doctor," Rose's voice echoed around his mind, her last words to him. And he broke, because Rose would be disappointed at the way he was acting, and he knew. She would have been furious to know that he couldn't handle settling down with their child. And when he was truly honest with himself, he couldn't just leave her. Rosemarie was his child, part-Time Lord. If he left her behind on Earth, with or without Jackie, it would be the worst decision he had ever made, and he had made a lot of bad decisions.

"Does it get easier, Jackie?" he asked, regretting his outburst. He scooped Marie out of her bassinet, cradling her against him as he offered her a bottle. Jackie was quiet, mulling over the question and pondering how best to answer him. She decided that truth was best.

"In time. Sometimes it does get hard again. When you don't get quite so many hours, or there's more month at the end of the money. Sometimes, you'll step back and wonder when she grew so fast and how you missed it," she said in a voice that was far down memory lane. "But it's rewarding too."

"When was it rewarding with her?" he asked, stumbling ever so slightly at her name.

"When she walked the first time; I was still newly widowed. It made me realize that I wanted to do it, I wanted to do it for her," she said with a smile. "It was rewarding when she said 'Mum' and when I sent her off to the first day of preschool. That was hard though, but she was a brave little girl. And I'm sure Marie will be even braver," she suggested.

"Of course," the Doctor agreed. "Rose was her mother." He hadn't even realized he slipped. And when Jackie smiled, tears in her eyes, his brain caught up with him. His hearts still hurt, they always would, but it was getting easier. And saying her name didn't hurt quite so much. He was healing, he realized, and little Rosemarie Andromeda Tyler was helping him.

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**So it's not all sad! Okay, maybe just a little. Let me know what you guys thought of this. It was originally supposed to be part of my Doctor Who fanfiction (still in the works) as the Doctor's nightmares. Who knows, it might still show up!  
**

**~LE**


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